Plant Something Today

This time of year, I think about an old neighbor of mine who spent every April Saturday in her garden. Not a sprawling garden — just a strip of dirt along the side of her house, maybe twenty feet long. She treated it like it was the most important real estate in the neighborhood.

I asked her once what the point was. You put all this work in, and then the season ends, and then what? She looked at me the way people look at you when you’ve said something that’s technically a question but is actually just a symptom of not understanding yet.

The point, she said, is that you plant it. Whether it grows big or small. Whether the season is good or bad. Whether anyone notices. You do your part and you trust the rest to the ground.

Today’s Saturday invitation: plant something. Literally, if you can. Metaphorically, if that’s what today has room for. A conversation you’ve been meaning to start. A project you’ve been meaning to begin. A small act of kindness toward someone who might need it.

Do your part. Trust the rest to the ground.

You do your part. You trust the rest to the ground.

What’s something you’ve been meaning to plant — literally or metaphorically — that today has room for?